


and i still don't know how i even survived

by cherrykirsch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky: A Local Goat Farmer, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Recovered Memories, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sunsets, Talking, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 08:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykirsch/pseuds/cherrykirsch
Summary: Bucky isn't how he used to be. T'Challa wants to understand.





	and i still don't know how i even survived

**Author's Note:**

> So, Infinity War absolutely killed me and I decided to write this recovering Bucky fic to heal myself. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy,,,
> 
> This fic is titled 'bucky mend my broken heart.docx' on my laptop.

When Bucky wakes up in ice, at first, he’s terrified. 

The fear creeps up into his chest and swallows him whole, and every nerve in his brain is electric, thinking of fifty different scenarios of how Hydra found him again and put him back under. It’s the same kind of feeling he got when he woke up half-buried in snow stained red with his blood, his head spinning as his eyes tried desperately to focus on the man with glasses who was waving four men in black forward.

He lifts a hand to break the glass separating him from the outside world and makes a noise of surprise when it opens with a puff of compressed air, and Bucky has hardly any time to react before he’s falling forward onto a cold marble floor. Immediately, he attempts to pull himself up but falters when he only sees one hand coming to his aid, glancing to his left shoulder, he stares at the black patch over the socket where the metal arm should be.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. _Right_.

The fear dissolves as his memories return to him in full force, and he groans a little, resting his forehead against the floor. Hydra doesn’t have him, that dude in the black cat-suit does—what was his name again? T’Challa, maybe, he doesn’t trust his mind enough right now to remember. He feels like his head has just been put inside a compressor, or that he’s had a little bit too much whiskey.  
Slowly he pulls himself up into a sitting position, looking back down to his left shoulder to rest his remaining hand over the patch. Underneath it he feels the grooves of metal and suspects that even if his arm was blasted off, the socket remained strong, which he was thankful for. He’d rather not have to go through the pain of getting another one fitted, especially with what a bitch it was to get at the beginning of all of this.

 Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet the ones of a young girl, and she starts at the sudden and intensity of his gaze and then immediately relaxes, giving Bucky a half-smile. 

“Sorry about the arm,” She says, and the sound of her voice jolts his memories. “We salvaged all we could, but—you know that arm was outdated, right? Joints would lock up, and etcetera. Don’t mind that, I’ll make you a new one.” 

Bucky blinks at her, a little overwhelmed. “Shuri.” He says, and the girl’s face lights up with a grin.

“Glad to see that the procedure didn’t affect your memory,” Shuri says before she waves a hand and turns back to the table in front of her. She is fiddling with something. “Of course, I was the one doing the procedure. So, you had nothing to worry about. Oh, we took out all the conditioning words, so that you going rogue is no longer a concern.”

Bucky nods, lets out a relieved sigh and looks down at his legs. “How long was I in ice?” He asks. 

Shuri makes a vague noise. “About seven months,” she tells him and Bucky inhales sharply. “We had to reset you. You’ll be living in a village here in Wakanda, I’ll come check up on you every so often and so will T’Challa.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Bucky says and Shuri turns to him, an eyebrow raised.

“No, it doesn’t.” She agrees. “It’s much better than prison. That Captain guy keeps asking about you. Do you want me to tell him that you’re awake? I’m sure he’d like to see you, or hear from you. At least, whenever I can get a radio signal through.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. His memories of Steve – that Captain guy – are still hazy, but he remembers a few things; Coney Island, shoes stuffed with newspapers, and that he was as weedy as a bean what seemed like only yesterday. He’s sure that Steve is itching to reconnect with him, but he’s not sure he trusts himself to be near him, besides, Steve probably has more important problems than an old friend.

“I think I’ll wait a while.” Bucky tells her as he looks up. “I want to remember first.” 

Shuri nods, turns back to the table in front of her and places something down before she turns back to Bucky. “If you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the village myself.” 

Slowly, Bucky eases himself to his feet and follows Shuri out of her lab. The first rays of the hot sun on his skin are heavenly, and he closes his eyes to enjoy them more. He feels utterly, blissfully himself for the first time in what he knows is centuries, and he loves the feeling of being himself, the idea of getting to know himself again.

 _This_ , he thinks. _This is freedom_.

* * *

The village Shuri and T’Challa placed him in was lovely.

The people enjoy having him around, and he helps where he can here and there. Most of it involves heavy lifting or tending to the goats they keep running around free-range, or keeping the children busy. They are fascinated with him. His tallness, his different pallor, the fact that there is a black patch over where his left arm should be. He garners himself a new nickname, and he accepts it. He eats with the village and then goes back to his bed to sleep through the night.

Mostly, though, they tend to leave him to his own devices.

And so, he is alone with his thoughts and a field of free-range goats.

When T’Challa arrives to visit him, Bucky never expects it and almost never sees him coming. He arrives silently but with purpose and Bucky is in awe of this. This time, Bucky watches from his perch on a rock, a goat gnawing at a flower beside him, as T’Challa appears over the horizon and approaches. 

Bucky waves him over and smiles when he is close enough to see it. “Good evening,” Bucky says, nodding towards the sinking sun. “You came to see me.”

T’Challa nods. “That I did.” He says. “I was wondering how you were getting on? Is everything normal?”

Bucky grins and taps his head with a knuckle. “Everything is alright up there.” He tells T’Challa. “No problems in the head department. No problems at all. It’s peaceful here, which is great, but strange; I’m not used to it.”

“I suppose you are used to round-the-clock action,” T’Challa agrees with a nod. “But I think some relaxation is good for your rehabilitation. Less triggers for stress or anxiety.”

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees with a bob of his head before he turns to look very seriously at T’Challa. “I’ll get used to this eventually.” 

T’Challa nods back and then looks up at the sky and off into the distance before he begins walking up the hill and past Bucky. Bucky turns to watch him, raising an eyebrow when T’Challa stop and turns back to him, waving him forward to join his side.

“I’d like to show you something.” T’Challa says.

Bucky lifts himself carefully from the rock and follows T’Challa up the hill to an outcrop just above tree-level, watching as T’Challa smiles and sits himself down on the edge of the outcrop, his legs dangling off it. Without looking at Bucky, T’Challa beckons him and pats the space beside him.

“Come, sit.”

Bucky walks forward and sits himself next to T’Challa, one of his feet folded under him.

He turns to T’Challa. “What did you want to show me?” He asks. 

“The sunset.” T’Challa says, a smile tugging at his lips. “In Wakanda, the sunsets are the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”

Bucky chuckles. “It is some sunset.” He agrees, and T’Challa looks curiously at him.

“So you’ve seen it?” He asks. 

Bucky shakes his head and looks off into the horizon, watching as the sky fades from blue to orange slowly. “Just a little bit, once, through the trees.” He explains. “And It was very beautiful. I’ve seen a lot of sunsets but those could never as visually stunning as the ones Wakanda has. But… it’s not my favorite sunset. Just this one reminds me of my favorite one.” 

Almost taken aback, T’Challa stills and then looks over to Bucky, who is staring off at the sky and not at him.  His brow is furrowed and he looks distracted by something, consumed by the effort of remembering.

“It’s not?” T’Challa asks, watching as Bucky shakes his head. “What is your favorite one?" 

The sunset colours the sky several different colours, and Bucky and T’Challa bathe in them, drink them in and enjoy the view as the sun sinks slowly behind the horizon. Bucky thinks that the sky looks like as if someone has streaked it in warm acrylic paints and mixed it with a dab of white clouds, he wants to say that person is Steve with his artistic talent; the sky looks like something that he’d paint when he had nothing else to.

There was no shortage of sunsets in Brooklyn. 

Bucky gathers himself, mouths something to test the weight of words of his tongue before he speaks. “It was on some ratty fire escape in Brooklyn with a kid who barely came up to my shoulder. He was blond and skinny and asthmatic, I had to heave him up there myself, it was my apartment, I think. Maybe a friend’s.” Bucky begins, at first quiet, but becoming a little louder the more confidence he gathers. 

“We sat on the windowsill in blistering summer, waiting for the sun to go down. When it did, my hand was in Steve’s and the sky was pink and orange and yellow and purple, and I looked to Steve and he was glowing under it, y’know? Like we are now.” Bucky explains, gesturing to himself and T’Challa. “He was awed by it, we never usually got sunsets that damn amazing. He looked so happy and I swore, in that moment and with my entire being, that I’d never let that happiness go away.”

The sky fades slowly from golden to dark purple and blue and Bucky releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing his hands to rest gently on his knees,

“After his mom died… I was all he had. It was a rough time for him. The war was on the horizon; I knew he’d do whatever it took to be part of it. He needed something…” He searches for the word, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “Something good. So, I found him that sunset.” 

T’Challa nods, drinking in Bucky’s words as he clasps his hands together in his lap. “Steve means a lot to you.” He says matter-of-factly. “And sunsets do as well.”

“He means _everything_ to me.” Bucky corrects, turning to look at T’Challa with a strange look in his eye. “In all… this… all the brainwashing, the amnesia, the world… he’s the only thing that seems right.”

T’Challa thinks he understands, maybe not fully, and maybe not all on the surface, but he thinks he knows what Bucky is trying to tell him. How Steve factors into all of this, how Bucky believes this to be. Even if T’Challa doesn’t understand right now, he wants to eventually.

“I see. I understand now.” T’Challa says as he nods again before he pauses, considering something. “I think you should tell Steve—Captain Rogers about that. I’m sure he would find it heartwarming.”

Bucky nods, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest as he lifts a hand to clutch over it, hoping that he won’t sway and catapult himself off the outcrop. “All of this… is strange to me, I’m a stranger in my own mind.” He says quietly as he looks back at the sunset. “It’s like… I’ve been away from home for a while and went back and someone’s painted everything a different color and rearranged it—familiar but uncomfortably different. They’re my memories but I don’t recognize them.”

“I’m sorry.” T’Challa says with a soft look. “That must be very hard for you.”

Bucky shrugs loosely, removing his hand from his chest to steady himself. “I’ve gotten used to it by now, and, slowly, I’m starting to recognize myself. It’s slow progress but I’m getting there.” He says with a small, hopeful smile. “I want to know myself before I face Steve, I want to be Bucky, not some stranger pretending to be him.”

The sky above them is now inky blue and scattered in stars like spilled glitter, and Bucky gazes up at it, picking out constellations as he dwells on memories. T’Challa’s presence a comforting pillar of support amongst the confusion.

T’Challa nods in understanding and slowly takes to his feet, watching Bucky watch the sky. “I understand.” He says and while Bucky tilts his head towards him, his eyes don’t drift from the sky. “I hope you’ll learn yourself quickly, for your own comfort.”

Finally, Bucky’s eyes meet his and they twinkle with something as he smiles. “Thank you, T’Challa.”

T’Challa smiles and looks out towards the dark sky, mourning the loss of the sunset. “I’m glad this sunset can remind you of the one you love the most and offer you comfort.” He says as Bucky smiles and nods and closes his eyes. “I’ll leave you now, it’s about time I be getting back.”

Just as T’Challa is about to turn and leave, Bucky’s voice stops him. “T’Challa, thank you.”

Smiling as he turns, T’Challa waves a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.” He says. “Goodnight.”

Bucky watches him go and then turns back to the stars.

“Just a little bit longer.” Bucky whispers to the stars, squeezing his eyes shut as he drifts slowly off to sleep. “I need a little more time, Stevie. Then, I promise, I’ll come back.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [ cherry-kirsch ](cherry-kirsch.tumblr.com) || twitter: [ cherriwrites ](https://twitter.com/cherriwrites)


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